


Fundamental Otherness

by raliciainfierno



Category: La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV), ralicia - Fandom
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:54:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25378738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raliciainfierno/pseuds/raliciainfierno
Summary: "You are in a nightclub talking to a man with a moustache and glasses, he looks a bit nerdy for you, quite like a mole. The club is a Heartbreak Lounge, I ask myself what are you doing here with him? All might be better if you slip through the bathroom doors and let me company you. You are looking for your phone as it has been going on and off since you arrived here, you excused yourself and this man is left staring at your departing scent."
Relationships: Raquel Murillo & Alicia Sierra, Raquel Murillo/Alicia Sierra, Raquel Murillo/Professor | Sergio Marquina
Comments: 1
Kudos: 19





	Fundamental Otherness

“Lemon?” The bartender asks you as you are meticulously flipping through a brochure. You nodded.

You are in a nightclub talking to a man with a moustache and glasses, he looks a bit nerdy for you, quite like a mole. The club is a Heartbreak Lounge, I ask myself what are you doing here with him? All might be better if you slip through the bathroom doors and let me company you. You are looking for your phone as it has been going on and off since you arrived here, you excused yourself and this man is left staring at your departing scent.

“Hey…” I find myself talking to this man, which by the way, I found out is called Sergio, how ancient. Based on his posture, his inability to create eye contact, and his lack of zeal for this setting, I think he is one of those stalk-ish kind of people who goes for women who are clearly out of their league, it’s pathetic.

“Was that your girlfriend?” I see confusion, discomfort, and worry on his face and evidently in his eyes, he is bothered. I sipped the last drop of my wine and Sergio still have not talked to me after telling me his name. 

You are walking to our direction.

You smell like freshly picked roses from the garden; you know the ones that you smell in the morning while I walk past your house? Yes, that.

You are asking for my name when a drunk woman spilled her drink on Sergio’s suit, great luck. You were grabbing the woman’s arm to help her get up straight, how thoughtful. Before you can even look back to go back to our conversation, I am already on the run, I hate the small talks. You did not see me.

Four hours passed, I hear a car stop by your house, it is two in the morning, you open the door and you were kissing Sergio’s cheek when you look behind him and I am almost convinced you saw me. Although, I am hidden, I get paranoid. There is something about you that has made me want to know you even more without approaching you, it has been a month. I first saw you when I was walking alone in the mall and you were picking a dress for what sounded like a gift for your daughter, you have a daughter, I overheard you talking with the clerk. It is no problem, I like kids.

You bid goodbye to Sergio and walked straight to your bedroom, second floor to the left, third window. I wonder where your daughter is, is Sergio your husband? He does not look like it, more of like a friend. Are you a widow? Divorced? A victim? Who and what are you? 

I lifted my head from reading a chapter of Jane Austen’s and see you sitting on your boudoir doing your nightly ritual, you have such a glowing skin, looks youthful. You remove your robe and you proceeded to your closet, I wait for you to go out and continued to read. Ten minutes passed and you are brushing your hair, you are now calling someone who plasters sadness in your eyes, I want to hug you. 

Now you are screaming, I have never seen you get angry over something I have no clue about; I am desperate to know, is that your husband? Perhaps, ex-husband? I do not like seeing you cry, you are fixing your hair and your face, and you are playing a jazz song, at three in the morning. Your music taste is exceptional, Frank Sinatra. Goodnight see you tomorrow.


End file.
